“Ah, forgive me, madam!” I said humbly. “I fear that my roughness has hurt you. Yet God knows how willingly I would bear your pain.”
“Yes, yes,” she cried passionately, “I am in pain, but not as you think, sir. It is your solicitude for me, your generous care for me, that hurts me—that brands me to-night with shame. And yet—and yet—” she muttered, passing her hand across her brow, “you have said that the end justifies the means. They were your own words, sir.”
“With a qualification, madam,” I said quietly.
She raised her hand with a gesture of entreaty.
“Spare me!” she cried, with increased agitation. “Do not add by your words to the sense of infamy I feel. Perhaps even yet it is not too late—perhaps—ah!——” She broke off with a sudden gasp and I saw the colour had forsaken her face.
Thinking nothing but that the faintness had returned to her, I took a step hurriedly towards her. But in a moment I realised that she was not looking at me, but that her gaze was rivetted upon something behind my back.
I turned swiftly to glance at the open window. And there a sight met my eyes that caused me to pause in genuine astonishment.
I have already said that above the trees of the park rose the square Norman tower of the church; and now upon the summit of the tower a bright light suddenly flashed, that grew momentarily in volume, until a broad sheet of flame ascended into the sky. Some one had kindled a fire upon the church tower—for what? One object, and one alone, was possible. It was a signal. And even as I gazed, upon the still night air came the sound of two shots fired in quick succession—aye, and following hard upon them a dozen straggling reports—and then silence. But with those reports the instincts of the soldier returned to me. There was danger, then—danger at the village—and I was not there to share!
I stood for a moment summing up all the possibilities of the situation; and in that moment a dozen or more lanterns broke from the woodland path that led to the village, and a little crowd of dark figures, with here and there the moonlight giving back the flash of steel, made straight for the terrace. At that my brain cleared with lightning rapidity, and turning swiftly, I snatched my pistols from the table.
Was it force of habit merely, or some dim suspicion of the truth that caused me to bend closer to look at them in the light of the candles?